Into the Dark
by Olivia028
Summary: Ratigan's survival of the fall from big ben is only the beginning. Lilly Hawthorn swore to help the villain seek his revenge, but the man he was before is only a shadow of the monster he's now become. Drawn by her love for him, Lilly is pulled deeper into his darkness, and it's London that will surely pay the price. But in the dark it's easy to loose one's way, and one's heart.
1. Chapter 1

Professor Ratigan fan-fiction. 

Because, I love him. 3 3

The bell rang just as the hour struck. Midnight, today had been cast into tomorrow, the day the plan was supposed to fall perfectly into place, the first in a soon to be many days of happy freedom that were promised to come. But the bell that was meant to signal a time of completion and relief, the start of a new day, a new life, changed suddenly. He was never supposed to be up there, so high and so far away. The clock tower had come from the nowhere of London's heart, a looming building of stone and glass that pointed from the center of the city like a steak through a corpse. They weren't supposed to be up there, hell two of them weren't even supposed to be alive. How they escaped was a mysterious as the men themselves, well one of them any way. The detective.

Shortly after they had fled the palace, I too left, catching a cab and pursing after the aerial chase as best as I could. The streets of London were in chaos after the attack of the queen, and with her assaulter soaring through the night sky above them, it was easy to see the fear in all of the London mice who were out that night. Desperately I searched through the dripping window, trying to follow the path of the two racing aircraft. One, a large gothic dirigible, the other an awkward contraption of balloons and the fluttering flag of the empire it self.

In and out of shadows, they jumped, ducking behind chimneystacks and souring toward the bridge over the Thames. Its dark water churned more then usual that night, the waves leaping toward the crafts as they dropped dangerously close. Then they approached the clock tower. Through fog and darkness I could see it looming there, and to my horror found my self catching my breath just before the impact. There was nothing I could do but I kept thinking to myself, screaming at him to look where he was going. The clock tower could not be avoided and the crash into its inner mechanisms an event that could only be watched but never prevented.

Through the silence of that moment, I found my self stuck in a moment of personal purgatory. Nothing around me registered in my mind, not the rain on my hand through the open window or the screams of onlookers as they gaped and pointed to the wreckage that now hung shredded from the glassy face of the time tolling tower. My eyes remained frozen on that clock, watching the ship swing and waiting, for a sign that he had survived. My hand found it's way to the latch of the cabin door and I found my self in the streets of London standing among a crowd and looking up through the cautious drizzle of rain, all of us holding a collected breath, waiting for the air to be cleansed and an answer to be given about the survivors, if there were any.

The first stroke of thunder hit me with the motivation I needed. Grabbing the hem of my dress I ran toward the foot of the tower, favoring my left side, gingerly so not to alert any one to the weight I had secured secretly under the folds of my black gown. Through the streets my ears went in and out of peoples hurried conversations, rumors of the queens abduction, attempted murder, the surprise rise of a tyrant at the royal ceremony tonight, the arrival of the detective, and the flee of the criminal into the skies of London and strait into the death of the clock tower collision. Every frightened whisper of his name clicked in my mind and sent pain to my chest. I whispered his name too as I ran, also fearfully, praying please that he would be all right. But the bell of the tower rang, sounding the hour to the huddled masses below. I looked up in time to watch him fall, the clock shuddering and knocking him from the ledge of the hour hand where he so dangerously stood.

The world around the tower screamed as his body dropped heavily toward them. Fingers pointed in attempt to follow as he plummeted, women screamed and hid their eyes in the protective shoulders of there watching companions, all gaping to see the man come to the destructive stop that they all feared but expected to happen.

From the street corner two blocks away I saw him land, disappearing behind an already gathered crowd of people. I herd their final yells of astonishment as they scurried back, afraid but still horribly curious to see him. Whether or not he survived, they still had to see, what would his body look like after that kind of fall and all the other gruesome details. These mice were not good people but retched animals. They hide behind their newspapers shaking over stories of men just like the one they now gawked over, now practically drooling with greedy anticipation for the bloody details. They were even worse then him, but no one would ever know but the seldom onlookers, too afraid to tell them… or too broken to bother

I stood on the corner several yards away, my dark hair losing its hold through the rain and falling down around my exposed neck and shoulders. The tight black fabric was clinging to my skin so tightly that it pinched at my arms and stomach, making it hard to breath and even harder still to remain standing. It's clinging wetness added to the weight burden I was already bearing around my hips and lower back. But no one noticed. Silently I blended in with the darkness of the street around me.

My body wanted to collapse and fall helplessly to the wet cobblestone street, my heart wanted to break and run to him. But my position held me in place, silent and solemn as a person of stone. I had to remember where I was, and what I was apart of. Anyone could have spotted me at the palace that evening, or even recognized me and started connecting the dots, running to the man who now lay at he foot of Big Ben would be as good as giving my self up. Adjusting my mindset and putting my emotions aside, I took a breath and stepped forward.

Hiding my face behind a laced fan I drew my umbrella and cautiously edged into the gathered crowd, the humble announcement of my heels allowed people to move aside, giving me access to view the scene with out having to say a word.

He lay unmoving before us, not a sight of blood and death, but one of sleep, and sorrow. On his back the great criminal mind seemed to have just settled himself down to close his eyes for a rest under the watching eye of the clock tower. I felt the tears enter my eyes looking at him like that. It was the first time I would see him so exposed, his arms spread out slightly alongside him, bearing his chest and making the powerful man look strangely vulnerable. I couldn't handle that image of him. Even in death he was the kind who was suspected to die with his head high and his fists bleeding but ready. But now he was the show for those who gawked around him, men and woman who would never know the man except for the fear his reputation had put into their minds. They would see him now dead and open to them with impassible serenity and become conflicted. This was not a man but a rumor who simply met reality the instant his face hit the cement. I shuddered at these thoughts of judgment and cruelty. The world really was a place to be hated sometimes.

The whispered murmurs of those who had been close enough to see his landing reached my ears. Apparently, some were saying, the great criminal had the amazing fortune to find six stories of tarped scaffolding between himself and the ground. The recent construction on the upper part of the building's base had provided a slowed dissent, the final layer catching him and then ripping to make his final hit to the ground a hard one but not a deadly one. As this news started to circulate amongst the crowd, people began backing up. Shushing and murmuring to one another, the fear returning to their voices.

Remaining where I was, the receding line of the huddled mass behind me was of no importance. My eyes remained on the professor, my heart rising like a swollen balloon up my throat. I held my mask of serenity, my eyes the only windows to my true emotions, searching his face for a sign that he was alright. I needed him to be alive, even the slightest movement, just the rising of his chest, just so I would know that he was breathing. _Please, James. Breath. _The words hovered on my lips as I watched him through the rain. Then I saw it, the tip of his tail flicked, ever so slightly, if I had blinked I would have missed it. But it was there, shortly after every mouse in the crowd could see the shallow breathing of London's greatest terror.

In the crowd someone shrieked, and the onlookers shuffled backward. I crept back with them, hiding my smile behind the fan. I could have cried with joy, I didn't even feel the weight at my side as that wall of fear and worry was lifted from my chest. He was alive. Professor Ratigan was alive.

In the crowd of now panicking mice someone shouted out,

"Call Scotland Yard!"

"They're already on their way," another mouse said, " I sent for them after the crash."

"What if they don't get here in time?" a woman whimpered, " What if he wakes up?" A mouse next to her wrapped the woman in his arms and comforted her. I looked around the crowd. They all had that dangerous look of panic in their eyes, the kind that leads to brash decisions and turns average mice in violent ones. What if they attacked the Professor? The worry of before crept back to me as I nervously glanced at some of the more aggressive looking mice as they glared down at the Professor. Quickly I jumped in.

"Let's not lose our heads, gentlemen!" I said to them over the murmurs and the rain, " He is clearly weakened by the fall and is in no position to cause any more harm. Let Scotland yard deal with the scum. They'll give him the treatment he deserves." This seemed to calm them down and again they went silent just watching the legend that lay before them.

The clattering of Scotland Yard carriages announced the police's arrival. Mice parted as the best of London's officers approached the professor. Surrounding his body with loaded muskets they readied for any sort of resistance.

As other guards pushed the crowd back I lost sight of the Professor. Like everyone around me I crowded on tiptoe for a better view. One Mouse, wearing a black coat and white gloves approached Ratigan, a shinning pistol in his hands. With no response from the injured criminal, he lowered himself to his level to examine him. I watched as he placed his gloved fingers on Ratigan's neck, checking for a pulse. After a few seconds he stood up and walked over to the commanding officer on the scene. I tried to hear what he was saying but couldn't make it out.

The officer signaled to his guards and soon an unconscious Ratigan was lifted up and carried into the custody of Scotland Yard. If he had any strength, I know he would have fought them with tooth and claw, but he just lay limp under the struggling support of London's finest.

I made my way to the ambulance just as they were placing him in it. I wanted to run past those guards and climb in with him. Something in me longed to take his hand in mine and let him know I was there, that I would make sure he would be taken care of. In my mind I saw my self fighting against the line of police, struggling against their hold and eventually breaking loose. Through the rain I would run after the carriage reaching out to him. But I didn't run. I didn't call out his name. How could I? He was the most dangerous man in all of London, and I was supposed to be no one, one of the insignificant masses, an innocent.

I opened my eyes in time to see the ambulance pull away from the commotion under the tower. Police walking on either side gave the ambulance it's own miserable precession through the streets of London. No one spoke as it passed by. They all knew who was inside.

I remained on that street, watching the party disappear into the fog of the evening's rain. He was gone. They had him at last. But the Professor was still alive, and as long as he was there was still hope for his empire. I knew I had to find the other members of the gang. Those that hadn't been apprehended back at the castle would know to return to the safe house. But there wasn't much time. If Basil was still alive then it wouldn't be long before he lead the police back to the Rat Trap, and the hideout hidden beneath it.

Remembering the detective I looked back up at the clock tower. His makeshift flying contraption was still hovering up there, looking down on the scene from its safety in the sky above. More then anything I wished it would have been he who had fallen and not the professor. That damned detective; I had never wished anyone dead before, until he came along.

Blinking the rain from my eyes I turned from the gruesome tower and the shreds of the disaster that still hung there. Gathering the ends of my dress I ducked into an ally way and started to run. Through the shadows of the London streets I made my way back to riverfront, trying to think of what the next move would be, what would become of his empire, and what of the Professor himself. The heavy treasure at my side pounded again and again against my legs as I ran, its weight a brutal proof of its extreme value. At the very least I made it out with this. If I ever saw him again I knew the Professor would be pleased. Again my mind went to him, the images of his fall, his motionless body flashing in my eyes. I felt that wall of emotion building up again inside of me, and with a flash of lightning, I ran faster.


	2. Chapter 2

I walked quickly down the sewer tunnel, the tapping of my heels adding to the hollow echo of the constant drip of water from the world above. The bottom of my dress dragged through a shallow layer of water that had collected from the evening's heavy rain.

My eyes searched the shadows, my ears twitching for any sound of movement beside my own. The entrance to the hide out was sure to be guarded with twice as many men then usual due to the severity of our now exposed location. The threat of attack from my own gang mates wasn't out of the question. They all knew me; after a year of acquaintance with the professor I had earned a reputation around the sewers and an almost protection to its dangers that lurked there, simply with association to the Napoleon of crime. But there was no way of saying how that would hold up now. Professor Ratigan was captured, some of the henchmen might of not even know that he had survived the fall and could now believed he was dead. It was impossible to say how these thugs would react with out their leader. I felt for a knife safely strapped to my side, its handle ready to defend grazing my fingertips.

The sewers dipped in and out of the stripes of moonlight from the grates above. I couldn't help but remember the first time I had been down here. That memory haunted this path, smothering me every time I walked it. I remember how scared I had been as I was pulled deeper and deeper into the dripping darkness by two thugs, who my memory portrayed as towering men whose expressionless faces and unnerving silence added to the near unbearable fear of what awaited me. It was only a year ago but I felt as if I had been a child when Ratigan's men first came for me.

I remember how I had asked again and again where they were taking me, why they were doing this. The same questions I had heard hundreds of times from the many unfortunate souls who Ratigan's men had dragged down these dripping tunnels. Even though I knew their suffering was all for the benefit of the professor's schemes, I couldn't help but feel sympathy for them. The fear that they felt, once consumed me too, and still lurked at the back of my mind. Even being in the Professor's favor, I was never truly safe. Danger was part of his game.

As predicted, when I was almost a block away from the entrance I caught the faint sound of someone's footsteps behind me. Unsure if it was an officer who might have followed me I decided to not call out to them. Instead I maintained my pace and took a turn to the left down one of the adjacent pipelines. Pressing my self against the tunnel wall I hid in the shadows and waited, my muscles tense as I gripped my blade.

The water on the floor rippled, signaling the stranger's approach. Within the second he rounded the corner I was on him, grabbing the collar of his coat and shoving him up against the wall, the point of my knife pressed dangerously hard against his throat.

He didn't struggle, knowing not to test the sharpness of my steel.

"Who are you? Why are you following me!" I demanded not able to see his face in the darkness of the side tunnel we were in.

"Jesus, Lilly! It's just me, Tom!" Tom's rough voice shouted at me, sounding more pissed off then scared.

"Oh," I said, now recognizing the thug. I lowered my knife and stepped back, Tom rubbing his neck where the blade had left a small red indent. "Sorry about that Tom. I heard you behind me and with the current situation… well you know." He scoffed and pushed past me back out into the main tunnel.

"Yeah, I do know. Why do ya think I was tailing ya? None of us are safe until we clean up shop and relocate, and soon. Scotland Yard's practically headed here right now. We've got some of da men on da inside stallin' em, but it won't last much longer." I ran after him, splashing through the water as I went.

"Agreed." I said, then I paused, "So… you've heard, haven't you? That he's alive."

" I've heard." He didn't say anything after that, just went on looking strait ahead, both of us walking in silence. I didn't mind. I was too busy trying to sort out the chaos of thoughts that were racing through my mind, trying to forget the fear that lingered just behind me.

We ran into two more "security precautions" before we entered the center cavern. The usually dim room where Ratigan's hideout was located was now ablaze with light. Mice were running back and forth from the entrance of the barrel, their arms full of the treasure that adorned Ratigan's throne room. Boats standing by in the canal of the sewer were loaded up with the treasure, furniture from the lair, boxes of important documents, and any other proof that the hideout had ever been there, and were then sent down the dark canals, out to the churning water of the Thames.

Tom ran to help the others in dismantling the large room. I too wasted no time and went in search of Anthony, Ratigan's second in command and appointed voice of authority in the case of the Professor's absence.

I found him in the throne room. He was still wearing the tuxedo from this evening's appearance at the Jubilee but his composure and his tie were both gone, disregarded after the plan went fowl. He stood in the center of the room shouting orders as fast as he could get them out. As soon as a thug came back into the room, Anthony, or Tony as he was known to the boys, would send him to retrieve the professor's desk from his office, the next second he was commanding a small group of men to bring down the chandelier, to break it if they had too, even if it was in pieces, as long as it got on one of the boats waiting outside.

However even though he was surrounded by the chaos of the job, he was handling the situation perfectly. Maintaining authority, and seeing that everything was taken care of, quickly and efficiently down to the last detail, it was no question why Ratigan trusted him for these situations.

I ran to Anthony, trying not to run into one of the thugs who were hauling items out of the barrel. The instant I was at his side he addressed me.

"Lilly thank god you made it. Late, but still present. At least that's one last thing for me to worry about." He turned and shouted at a large mouse near by. "You there! Go to one of the human's crates that's stacked outside and pry it open. Hurry!" The mouse seemed confused by went strait away. He spoke quickly again to me, not meeting my eyes as he surveyed the scene.

"We're about done here, we just need to load the last of the books from the Professor's library and a few more of the gold pieces and then we're out. I'm transferring us to the back up location, has the professor informed you on where it is?"

"No he hasn't. He didn't even mention that there was a second location." I was running after Anthony as I said it, following him back out to the cavern where he was now supervising a group of mice that were rolling the old prison sells, once smaller barrels themselves, down into the pipe beneath the grate. The entrance from the Rat Trap was closed as one after another the wooden rooms were pushed over the edge and plunged into the darkness below, a shattering crash echoing as they hit the bottom.

"Odd," Anthony said, "I guess I assumed you were in his confidence about this by now. No Matter though, you'll be riding in one of the boats to the safe house. You'll know its location once you get there." His comment caught me off guard for a second. I don't know if it was the fact that Anthony thought the Professor consulted me on important matters like these, or my questioning why he didn't. But I brushed the thought aside and again tried to keep up with the tall mouse as he strode on ahead.

"Yes, well I suppose I can do that. But Anthony there's still something I need to know." Frustrated I finally managed to get in front of him, stopping him mid stride. "What are we going to do about Ratigan? Now that he's in the custody of Scotland Yard, they are not going to let him go easily. I'd really like to know how you plan to get him out of there?"

" Lilly, believe me when I tell you that freeing our leader is my main priority, but with the police just minutes away, now really isn't the time to discuss our strategy for doing so." Anthony tore his gaze away from mine as a mouse in a stripped shirt called out to him from the entranceway of the throne room

"We're done cap'n! Every thin's cleared out!"

"Very good!" Anthony called back to him. Then he raised his voice to an authoritative bellow, commanding the attention of all the mice in the cavern. "Everyone on to the last few boats! As soon as the first one's full cast off, we meet back at the safe house at the latest by dawn. Squib!" he called up to the large mouse he had sent to the crates above, " Have you got that crate opened yet?"

"Yes sir, but it's just full of old bottles of gin." Squib called back.

"I know! Now. Throw them down onto the barrel. Hard, Squib, we need them to break!" The large mouse disappeared into the crate as the rest of the thugs climbed into the boats down below.

As I followed the others to the canal something above me caught my eye. Fluttering ever so slightly was the enormous red banner that had been released for Basil's arrival; a mocking welcome for Ratigan's foe. It would be the only thing left behind, once again serving its ironic purpose as it greeted Scotland Yard to an empty sewer main.

Reaching the boat I lifted up the layers of my dress and stepped over the railing, careful not to reveal the secret I still carried at my side.

Anthony ran towards a human cord that was tied to a peg jutting out from the brick, a large ax was leaning against the wall next to it. Taking its handle he lifted the weapon high above his head and brought it down with a hard blow, slicing through the old cord. The release of the rope turned a lever in a lantern that hung high on the cavern ceiling, dousing the oil from the wick and casting the room into its usual darkness.

In a few short bounds the slender Anthony was on the boat, standing beside me. We both turned, looking in time to see the first of the human bottles to come crashing down upon the hideout. Its glassy surface broke against the hard wood of the barrel, making its walls buckle and splinter under the impact.

Again and again the bottles bombarded the once perfect fortress, the strong scent of the alcohol reaching our noses as it pored over the sides. When Squib tossed the last bottle he scurried down a rope that hung over the water of the canal, dropping down onto the boat with the rest of Ratigan's men.

We pushed away from the edge, all of us looking at the destroyed wreckage of what used to be our safe haven. The towering walls that had greeted me so ominously that first night now lay in pieces; the skeleton of the building still standing amongst the rubble.

Just as I was about to ask Anthony why the bottles were necessary, he pulled out a cigar. Striking a match on the side of the ship he lit it, turning the end a glowing red every time he inhaled. Then, without a word he threw the match igniting a puddle of gin nearby. The fire spread instantly. Within moments it had consumed the building, burning with an incredible amount of heat as its flames engulfed the gin soaked wood and stretched hellishly toward the ceiling.

No one spoke as we sailed away on the boat filled with treasure. I remember looking up at Anthony to see the light of the flames reflected in his eyes. He had been a part of this organization long before I ever was. He had been established here, had learned how to survive, all the skills of the street and working the underground. He had become the leader here at this very place. And now he had to watch it burn, by his own hand.

Again my musings turned to hate as I thought of the detective. He hurt so many people and worst of all was that he didn't even know it. He just strutted around with his cocky self-esteem blinding him to the consequences of his actions. He never saw the people on the other end. The once who's lives he was destroying all in the name of justice. I thought of the Professor as I watched the edges of Basil's banner burn, and how much he would have liked to see it.

I followed Anthony to the front of the boat and took a seat by the helm. Slowly the heat of the fire faded away as we sailed down the pipeline, and we were again surrounded by the cold emptiness of the sewer as we drew deeper and deeper into its darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

"One more time gents! All together now! Heave!" The Leading officer shouted as he directed his men. Almost Twenty Police officers were propped up against the side of the shattered wood of the last of the prison cells. With one final push the obstacle creaked and moaned but slowly began to roll away from the spot where it had fallen.

"Very good, men. You lot, quickly, throw those ropes over its side and tie it off so it doesn't fall back onto the opening." Other officers jumped to action at his command and set to work securing proper bindings around the structure. As soon as it was tied off the men who had moved it looked as if they wanted to collapse. They had been at it for almost an hour, clearing away the rubble of this unexpected roadblock.

The leading officer stepped forward. He peered into the blackness that lay beyond the barrel they had just moved. Without turning back to his men he stuck out his hand to them,

"Give me the light," he said quietly, his eyes searched the darkness before him. Someone handed him a lantern and slowly he crept in. Through the shadows cast by the light, he sifted through the rubble of wood and wreckage. Shattered splinters that had broken off from the impact cast menacing shadows to distort themselves wickedly around the pipe walls. The army of officers ventured in after their leader, echoing his silence.

As they reached the end of the pipeline the wafting smell of smoke became very strong in their keen noses. The leading officer lowered his lantern to look up the stretch of pipeline as it rose to the level above. A faint orange glow danced just out of the range of clear site and from the opening, small particles of ash and ember were gently floating down towards them.

The officer suspected immediately that the fiends had set the fire and fled. If the ashes were already falling, they might have arrived too late. He turned to his men, severity returning to his voice.

"Alright men, I want you up that pipe on the double. As soon as you reach the top, arm yourselves and wait for my signal." He turned to a figure standing apart from his men, "Detective, what are you thoughts, is there the possibility of an ambush?" The tall mouse was examining the wreckage. He seemed to be talking everything in, observing every detail, and yet he remained as composed as a man of stone. The detective turned to him,

" No, Lt. The smashed barrier they have left for us implies a hurried attempt to prolong their getaway. I expect the vandals are long gone." The Lt. Officer frowned at this prediction. If that was the case then he and his men were already a step behind. They needed to catch up.

"In that case we must hurry. Detective?"

"Please, by all means Lt., after you." The officer nodded and commanded his men to follow. Quickly the police scaled the wet walls of the pipeline, scurrying up to the grate and the scene that awaited them above.

Bracing himself against the wall the Lt. Officer drew his pistol and peeked up through the bars of the grate.

"Damn." The word whispered under his breath, alerted the officers that they were too late.

The grate was lifted and the army of Scotland Yard officers filled out onto the scene.

Looming up before them was all that was left of a once terrifying place. The ribs of the old barrel were stripped away, left barren and exposed as the last of the flames licked lazily at their charred remains.

Basil coughed against the heavy clouds of smoke that wafted through the cavernous sewer. He peered through the watering of his eyes at the wreckage. Officers scattered about the burning piles of debris, walking with a heavy step, as they examined the remains for evidence that wasn't there. Their search was to no avail, they knew there was nothing left to find, the emptiness serving as a wicked reminder of Ratigan's cunning.

Above the burned wreck of stone, something fluttered, catching the detective's eye. He gazed up, shielding his gaze from the embers that wafted lazily down toward him. Up there, standing out boldly from the darkness, hung the large banner that had been revealed when first he and Dawson had discovered the hideout earlier that night. All that remained were the sharp glaring letters of the word 'Welcome'. The edges of the tapestry danced as small golden trails snaked their way ever so slowly toward the center, giving the greeting a rather extravagant flourish.

Basil felt a sharp, twisting knot in his chest begin to form. The terrible irony of the sign bore down upon him with a harsh sense of accusation; it's free flutter seeming to laugh at the great detective and his failure to get there sooner.

But Ratigan was finished, Basil reminded himself, weakened by the fall and in the custody of the London police. Soon it would be to prison and most likely the noose after that. He was defeated, the threat was gone. Although, Basil thought, his memory will most likely be the hardest to erase. You can protect the public from an enemy, but their fear will always remain.

Basil turned to see the Lt. Officer standing at his side, sharing his gaze up at the tattered banner as it waved it's dying welcome.

"Even under our custody, he still manages to allude us." Basil looked back up, nodding in silent agreement. "There's nothing for us here, I'll send the boys to follow them down the aqueducts. The water line is their only point of escape, perhaps if we hurry we can catch them." If it weren't for the knot in his chest, Basil might have laughed at the Lt's foolishness.

"And how do you expect to catch a band a of crooks who left by boat half an hour ago, when your men don't even have a vessel with which to pursue them?" Basil gave him a disappointed sideways glance. The Lt. Awkwardly cleared his throat, about to come up with some explanation to his reasoning, but Basil interrupted him.

"No, Lt. Besides, the ducts surely empty out to the Thames. The river could have taken them anywhere by now." Basil turned then suddenly, facing the Lt. with a new spark of urgency. "We can't waste any more time chasing after them. Being a step behind will get us nowhere. If we have any hope of getting ahead we need to think, calculate the next move. They've lost their leader so they're going to be unorganized and confused, and surely they are acting on pre-established plans of action, emergency getaways, seeking whatever safe house they have in the city. I think it would be best to round up your men and return to the pub above, question the employers and patrons there, see what you can get out of interrogation, got it?" The Lt. Officer nodded, picking up on his urgency.

"What about you, Detective?" Basil looked out at the black water of the tunnel, eyeing their dark exit.

"I'm going to the hospital, see what I can get out of the professor."

"You really think he'll say anything?"

"He's a stubborn old rat, but I think I can get him to talk."

"Ah, no, detective, I meant due to his condition. He fell off of Big Ben for Christ sake. They said he was hardly still able to breath, let alone give information." Basil looked down at his feet.

"Yes, well. I'll just have to see how it goes then." The Lt. Officer nodded once more, then turned back to his men, shouting his orders to them as he hurried away. Basil however stayed, his eyes still staring, now quite intently, at the ground. Practically lying in front of him, something glinted out of the ash, catching his eye. Pulling out his magnifying glass, the detective examined the cracks of the cobblestones. Brushing away some of the soot, he picked up a small object, no bigger then his fingernail and smooth to the touch. Basil rubbed it gently, and it gleamed brilliantly in his palm. A small shining emerald.


	4. Chapter 4

The hallways of the St. Bartholomew Hospital were quiet, and still. The upper levels left evacuated and empty, played host to the occasional Scotland Yard Officer who paraded back and forth, lazily, on their rounds. On the lower levels, the usual patients slept, crowded together as they were forced to share a closer company in order to properly isolate the patient that slept high above them. It had been a great shock to the ward when word came that they would be accommodating the greatest criminal in London. Crowd control had been needed, to calm the worried patients, and keep the nosy public from swarming the premises.

They had placed James Ratigan on the top floor of the emergency wing, strapped down to a hospital bed and locked in a small room, behind who's door two armed men stood at the ready. On every floor below, a pair of officers walked, patrolling through the night. The building itself was surrounded as well, police manning a 10 foot perimeter from every entrance. Scotland Yard had finally captured the nefarious professor, and even in his unconscious state, they weren't taking any chances.

At exactly three a.m, a young nurse made her way toward the top floor, carrying a tray of medical tools and a small syringe of morphine. She wasn't stopped by the guards, nor questioned at all, for a man walked beside her, a man wearing a black coat and white gloves. The officers would salute him as he passed. He wouldn't acknowledge this, of course, men of his stature never do. He simply walked on, back strait as a post and hands held firmly behind his back. He needn't say a word to the young woman at his side to ensure she did as he directed, when the time came.

The nurse, a small mouse with a slim face, walked up the last staircase to Ratigan's floor not with a feeling of fear but simply a sense of anticipation. If asked she would have admitted that she was more intimidated by her escort then the prisoner she was seeing. When the staff had been gathered together to discuss the treatment of the wounded professor, this small woman had bravely raised a tiny paw, and volunteered to take the job no one else dared to consider. She had only been at the hospital for a few months, having only lived in the city for a year. She was Scottish, and had moved to London after serving as a medical aid to the wounded soldiers who returned from Afghanistan. Even in the small highland hospitals, Professor Ratigan's reputation was known, and she was not immune to the threat of the powerful rat. But though she was small, the young woman was not weak. War had shown her fear, pain, and a sense of hopelessness, all that she had experienced, and more importantly survived. The young woman had seen the horrors of man, and was not afraid of the rat.

When they reached the room where the professor slept, the man with the white gloves motioned to the guards. They stood down, moving aside to unlock the door and saluted the man as he turned to face the nurse.

"Just like the last times. Check his wounds, give him the morphine, and leave. I'm locking the door behind you. Knock twice when you're done." She nodded and turned toward the door. It opened with a click and she entered.

The room felt bare and empty. Usually meant for several patients, they had removed the other beds and left only his, standing alone in the empty space. The only light came from a window on the far wall. It had been heavily barred for the professor's arrival, causing the moonlight to fracture and stretch in long stripes as it spilled across the floor. The only sound was the soft flowing of the lace curtains, accompanied by the low gentle breathing of the large rat who lay on the bed before her.

The nurse heard the lock click behind her. Exhaling a held breath, she went to her patient. After setting down her tray, she lit a small lamp beside his bed, giving her some light to work by. The warm light chased the shadows away from his strong form, and revealed the sleeping giant that she was caring for.

The nurse raised her lamp to gaze at him. He still wore his tattered clothes, torn apart during the fall. Why they had refused to let her remove them, she didn't know. In the very least she had been allowed to cut away the clotted blood soaked fabric above his injuries, but they had even been hesitant about that. If they wanted him to die, she wondered, why did they bother bringing him here? Sighing, she set down the lamp and turned to her tools. She knew if she took too long, the scary man in the hall would be cross. He was an odd one, that tall gentleman. All dressed in black with his silver weapons, pistols and a sword he kept under his coat, and yet felt necessary to let show now and then, as if reminding the world that they were there. And those gloves. She thought about these things as she made her way around Ratigan, removing his bandages, cleaning the wounds, and redressing them.

As she thought about the gloves, she looked down at the Professor's hands. His gloves were gone, torn away in the fight on the clock tower, and revealing the clawed slender fingers beneath. This was the part of him that the young nurse did fear. They were so unnatural compared to her own. The hands of a monster, that now lay still and shackled at his side. For a moment her hand made as if to reach out to his, as if to take it in hers and see just how different it was. But it was a just a moment, and hesitating she drew her hand back and cradled it close, shocked by what she had almost done.

Shaking her head she stepped away and walked back to the other side of the bed where the tiny syringe lay waiting, its glass reflecting off of the shine of the metallic tray. The morphine was for his pain, though the nurse knew better. There was way more in this tiny vial then what was needed, and it wasn't just to compensate for his size. The police were keeping him sedated, like a wild beast they were yearning to control. The young woman picked up the syringe and held it to the light, questioning the morality of what she was doing, as her small fingers flicked against the glass.

Three little clicks against the needle, and a squirt of the powerful medicine, made sure that it was ready. But the nurse stopped for a second, her large ears perking up suddenly against the silence of the room. She looked around, confused by what she could have sworn was an echo. But there was nothing. Her ears twitched and she slowly turned back to the professor. Leaning in toward his arm, she stopped again, again the faint sound of little clicks echoed out from somewhere in the room. The nurse straightened up and perked up her ears. But again… there was nothing.

A loud bang from outsid startled her as the man beat a gloved fist against the door.

"Hurry it up in there!"

She looked down nervously at the professor, but he was still asleep. The nurse threw a glare at the door, annoyed at how he had startled her. She didn't grace his shout with a response but turned once again to her patient, intent on finishing and leaving as soon as possible.

But the clicks came again, and in frustration she put her needle down and huffed her way over toward the window where she was sure the sound was coming from. As she neared however, the young woman faltered, hearing the sound now clearly. It wasn't a series of clicks but a steady ticking sound.

The nurse crept up to the window and cautiously pulled back the thin curtain. Through the darkness of the London street, a thin layer of fog floated like a parade of ghosts, making it very difficult to see anything down below. But as she was looking down from her window, up on the neighboring rooftop, several sets of eyes were looking down at her.

* * *

><p>"Damn! I told you to find the right room, you insufferable moron!" Dorian hissed, trying to keep his voice down as he glared daggers at the thug at his side.<p>

"I, I tried, Dorian. I thought that was it for sure!"

"No, you idiot. the nurse is looking out the window to the right! Now the explosion will be off." Sebastian Dorian peered angrily through a pair of binoculars at the woman in the window, and panned over to the bomb that had been set under the window next to it. Growling he lowered the binoculars and threw them at the mouse. Quickly he tore a grappling gun from the man standing behind him and aimed it at the hospital. A silent shot was fired and it hooked onto the roof across the way. Thrusting the tool back into the man's hands he stomped over to the thug as he was starting to pick himself up, and grabbing him by the collar threw him toward the edge where the rope hung between the two buildings. Dazed, the mouse managed to grab onto the rope before falling over the side. Looking fearfully down, he then gazed back at Dorian.

"Get over there and move it to the proper window." The tall mouse ordered.

"But Dorian, it's already rigged to blow..." he almost wimpered. Dorian's eyes narrowed threateningly.

"Then you better hurry." the mouse gulped and quickly climbed down the rope.

Moving as quickly as he could he reached the window under which the bomb was strapped. The clock, now almost a racing tick, seemed to grab hold of his heart as he felt it match it's speed. Using his tail to drop down, he grabbed hold of the bomb and began trying to pull it from the wall. His hands sweating as he tried desperately to pry it free.

The nurse, having seen nothing below now looked up, alarmed by the rapid increase of this mysterious tick. Her eyes widened as a group of shadowed figures looked down at her from the roof across the street. One of them was looking through a set of binoculars. He was taller than the others, and when he saw her dropped the lenses and pointed a hand toward her. She gasped and ran backward as another figure dropped down suddenly in front of the window, a devise in his hand and a wild look in his eye.

Turning she ran toward the door and threw her fists upon it. The man with white gloves opened the door looking angrily at her, but she pushed past him and slammed it shut just as the explosion erupted from behind hit

The force of impact shook the building and threw the guards and the officer off of their feet. The nurse, still clinging to the door, squeezed her eyes shut as it bucked against its hinges, a cloud of dry wall exploding from around it.

In the room, the outward facing wall was now a gaping hole of crumbling brick and falling foundation. Dorian gave the order and two more grappling guns were fired into the room, latching onto the walls and allowing a small team of Ratigan's men to slide down into the now open hospital room. Dorian was with them, and as he landed he instantly took charge. They moved with calculated timing and precision. In a matter of moments, two men had released the Professor from his bonds and lifted him up onto their shoulders. Dorian was overseeing the quick construction of a sling, just as the officers outside had regained their footing and were bursting through the door.

Dorian snapped his attention to them and instantly drew his pistol firing as they tried to enter the room and managing to hit one in the shoulder. The soldier fell backward and the other took shelter behind the door as he tried to fire around it. But the tall officer, the one dressed in black, took no shelter and simply came at them. Dorian recognized this mouse. He had never met the dark man but knew of him from his time in the wars. An ex-marine and now secret solder in her majesty the Queen's regiment: Alexander Barca.

The other mice took to their guns and fired an assault on Barca as he neared their position by the getaway. But he was fast, and before a bullet was fired he ducked behind the empty hospital bed. Dorian ran to the professor and helped take his weight. Just before they lowered him into the sling, Ratigan's eyes opened slightly.

"Dorian…" the name was barely a sound, as it grumbled from his throat. The professor tried to say more but only a raspy gurgling could be heard over the rapid gunfire.  
>"Easy, Professor. Save it for later, ok?" and Dorian and the others placed their leader in the sling. the rest of the team on the opposing rooftop pulled the wounded passenger up an out of the broken hospital room, the rest of the thugs jumping out and grabbing on to the ropes to climb up after him. Dorian turned back to the bed and saw Barca pick himself up from behind the tattered bedsheets. They made eye contact, just long enough for Dorian to smile at him before pulling the pin from a grenade in his pocket and throwing it at the bed. The officer jumped up and ran out of the room, Dorian running in the opposite direction, toward the last of the ropes that hung outside the gaping mouth of the wall.<p>

In a single bound, he leapt from the crumbling brick to soar through the air, grabbing on to the rope just as the grenade hit. The explosion was massive and the force gave Dorian just the right push to reach the roof top on the other side.

The now broken hallway outside of what used to be Ratigan's hospital room crumbled, raining debris on Barca, the guards and the young nurse. The four of them coughing and scrapping to get up from under the rubble as the smoke started to clear. Alexander Barca jumped to his feet, stumbling slightly as he tried to run through the broken brick and cement. With a jolt he stopped before falling through the hole that waited just beyond the door he had been guarding. It was as if the room had been removed along with its prisoner, and all the great soldier could do was watch as the villain disappeared over the rooftops carried by his band of followers.


End file.
